


Evermore

by glmmer



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma, all around dark times, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glmmer/pseuds/glmmer
Summary: Anna is finally able to confront the ghost that has been haunting her since her sister's coronation.





	Evermore

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in a very, very long time. It's dark and depressing but it's what my mind came up with. Definitely don't read if you're not into unresolved emotional stuff, relatively unhealthy coping mechanisms and death. This does not have a happy ending, so if you're in the mood for fluff, I'd definitely say keep scrolling. Otherwise, enjoy, and hopefully I'll have something else for you all soon. :)

She’s begun counting the days. Since the coronation. Since she met him. Since he laughed in her face and left her alone to die.

It took some math, because she wasn’t counting at the beginning. She was too happy, too overcome with bliss and giddiness at her renewed relationship with her sister and her new, fresh, and oh-so-romantic one with Kristoff.

It had been perfect at first. Elsa and her would go on long walks in the garden, talking and laughing and remembering the happiest moments from their childhood. When Elsa was whisked away by counselors and advisers to perform her queenly duties, she’d find Kristoff, usually in the stables, and the two of them would spend the afternoon playing cards, going for rides through the countryside, or doing any number of other happy, carefree things. In the evening, all three would eat dinner together, and Anna would go to bed feeling better than she had in years.

But then October came. October twenty-ninth, to be exact. Arendelle was prone to cold spells in late autumn, and this year was no different. What was different, however, was that the last time Anna’d been laying and shivering in a cold room, it was because of _him._

After that night, she saw him everywhere. Lurking around the stables while she laughed with Kristoff. Lounging on Elsa’s throne with a mocking look on his face. Sitting at the vacant seat at their dinner table. Watching her while she slept.

“Go away,” she murmurs to the nothingness one cold, lonely night.

“You miss me,” he whispers back, and she swears she can feel his presence in her room with her.

“I don’t miss you. I _hate_ you.”

“You miss the idea of me, then. You wish I were here with you. You wish you — no, _we_ — could have a do-over.”

She throws her spare pillow into the night, screaming.

“Leave me alone!”

That was November fourteenth. That was the day she started counting.

One hundred and thirty one days.

At one hundred seventy four, the letter comes.

Elsa shoves it at her wordlessly. Her face is paler than Anna has ever seen it, paler than her hair, paler than the snow.

Anna examines it. It bears the seal of the Southern Isles.

She stares at Elsa, eyes wide. “What…?”

“Just read it. I don’t… I don’t know how to tell you.”

_Dearest Queen and Princess… we hope this letter finds you both in good health and spirits… we pray this letter reaches you after the holidays so as not to put a damper on your festivities… a trial was held in late November… we have just now decided upon a verdict… in accordance with our law, we write to tell you that our youngest brother has been sentenced to…”_

The letter falls from her hands.

“No.”

“What?”

“They can’t… they can’t do that to him.”

“ _Anna_ ,” Elsa sighs, looking on as tears begin to well in her sister’s eyes. “After what he’s done…”

Anna says nothing, simply stares forward. He’s in her ear immediately.

“Oh, Anna,” he whispers, “do you really care for me so much that you think I should be _pardoned_ for my crimes against you?”

“Did you read it all?” Elsa’s voice overpowers his.

“I don’t… I…”

Elsa kneels beside Anna’s chair, taking her sister’s hands into hers.

“Anna… we’ve been… our presence has been requested by the King of the Southern Isles.”

* * *

 Kristoff watches as Anna hastily tosses a few casual dresses into a small trunk.

“You know, I can go with you. If you want.”

“I really don’t want you there.” She looks at him, not at all surprised to see the hurt look on his face.

“It’s not you. I don’t want Elsa there, either. I don’t even want myself there, if we’re being honest.”

His large hand is on her shoulder just as the tears begin to fall.

“I know. I know. I just thought you might need some support. You did… you loved him. You shouldn’t have to watch him—”

“It wasn’t love. It was desperation.”

He sighs before pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. She says nothing, does nothing, except pull away with a grimace and stare into her trunk.

“Are you supposed to wear black to an execution?”

* * *

 

Boats are her greatest fear. Or, they were until he’d come into her life. Now she could add a crippling phobia of the cold and a nagging suspicion that her relationship with Kristoff was nothing but a sham to the list.

She stays in her cabin for much of the boat ride to the Southern Isles, curled up in her small bed and thinking of her parents. Had they been afraid? Or were they at ease until the very moment their ship started taking on water?

It’s not a terribly long trip, only about two days. Shorter than she’d expected.

Had he really been that close? All one hundred and ninety-two days?

His brothers are nice enough. They greet her and Elsa at the docks, dressed to the nines, just as he had been.

She doesn’t bother to make eye contact with them. She _despises_ them.

She despises him, as well. But there’s something especially sickening, in her opinion, about putting your sibling to death because they’d made a mistake. A big mistake, but still.

She glanced at Elsa.

People could change. People weren’t black and white. People made _mistakes._

* * *

One of their servants takes her to her room after the King requests a private conversation with Elsa. It’s fairly nice, and they’ve clearly made an effort to make the room as comfortable possible.

She is asked if she’d like help unpacking her things, to which she says no. If she needs anything, which she also declines. The young woman rattles off an endless list of possible tasks, until Anna finally insists she has everything she needs and shoos her out of the room.

She collapses on the plush bed, finally, and sobs.

Elsa checks on her after her meeting.

“You shouldn’t cry, Anna. By this time tomorrow, it’ll be over.” She says, as she sits beside her sister, gently stroking her strawberry hair

“What if I decided to have you killed because you almost killed me?”

“ _Anna_.”

“He did something bad. Really bad. But… I don’t know. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“What if he tries to hurt someone else?”

Anna sits up with a groan.

“I’m not saying he should be, like, _pardoned,_ or anything. I’d just rather see him locked in a tiny, dark cell for the rest of his life rather than, you know, dead.”

“I know.” Elsa’s voice is comforting, kind, but Anna’s not sure it’s understanding.

“You think I’m a fool.”

Elsa laughs. “Really? You think _I_ think you’re a fool?”

“You did after I agreed to marry him, you probably think I am now that I’m having a meltdown over him getting punished.”

“I don’t think that. No matter what he did, you loved him. It’s a weird situation, and when you think about it, it’s also a sad situation. I agree with you. I don’t think anyone deserves to die. But what if he’d gotten away with it? _We’d_ be dead, Anna.”

Anna just falls back onto the bed, covering her eyes with her small hands. Thankfully, Elsa allows her a moment to wallow before laying down as well.

“I know you don’t want to. _But._ We’ve both been invited to lunch. And I know for a fact that they have chocolate cake ready for dessert.”

Anna couldn’t help but let the corners of her mouth tug up into a smile. She could never say no to chocolate cake.

“I _knew_ that would lift your spirits,” Elsa says, sitting up and tugging on her sister’s hand.  “Now, come on, let’s get down there before the food is gone.”

Anna giggles, following her sister out of the room. The young servant from earlier passes them in the hallway, carrying a large plate and glass of water with her. She smiles at Anna, curtsying ever so slightly.

“Your Highness. Your Majesty.”

Elsa nods politely, but Anna’s eyes remain on the plate.

“Were all of them going to be at lunch?”

“What?”

“His brothers. Will all of them be there?”

Elsa quirks an eyebrow. “That’s what King Rikard said. And their wives, and some of the older children. So be polite.”

“But of course,” Anna giggles, looking back in the direction of the rooms. The servant girl had reached the last door on the hall, where a young man dressed in the colors of the Southern Isles flag waited. She holds up the plate, flashing a pretty smile, and the man opens the door for her.

Anna notices a sword sheathed in his belt just as she and Elsa begin to walk down the stairs.

* * *

 Lunch was fine. Anna decides that she quite likes the fourth oldest brother, Kaleb. He’s the only one who talks to her like she’s a person rather than some delicate little thing that would break at even the slightest mention of something negative. They all hold her at arm’s length, except Kaleb, who is at least willing to talk to her about more than her voyage to his kingdom.

As lunch begins to wind down, as princes and wives leave to do work and needlepoint, Anna pulls Kaleb aside.

“Have you seen him? Since he got back here?”

Kaleb looks a bit surprised at her question. But after making sure his eldest brother is still engaged in deep conversation with Elsa, he answers.

“Yes. I was at his trial.”

“Where is he being held?”

“Pardon?”

“He’s in the dungeons, right? Or a jail? In a cell, somewhere. Am I correct?”

Kaleb hesitates. “You’ve nothing to worry about, Your Highness. He’s watched constantly. He’ll be executed tomorrow morning, just as you’ve been told.”

She grimaces. “I think I’ll be going back to my room now. I’m quite tired from the trip.”

* * *

 Everyone leaves her alone, for the most part. Elsa checks in after lunch, and several servants are sent up to attend to any need she might have.

None are the girl from earlier.

She leaves her door open, just slightly, and lays at the bottom of her bed, novel in hand. The wood floors creak as shoes click against them out in the hallway. Whenever anyone walks past, Anna knows.

She observes a few things. First, that for a guest wing, there is a lot of foot traffic. She and Elsa were the only two to be invited from outside the Isles to… watch, at least according to Kaleb. She can’t imagine the Princes of the Southern Isles and countless servants would be running through the hall if just she and Elsa were there. Second, every hour, on the hour, a man in a guard’s uniform walks out of the hall, and moments later, another walks past in the opposite direction.

After watching this pattern for a few hours, Anna steps out into the hallway. Three fifty-eight. She pretends to view the paintings in the hall, watching as one guard leaves, and a new one takes his place. She gives the new one a few moments to settle in before approaching him.

“Hello, sir.” She bats her eyelashes, doing her best to look dumb and innocent and naive.

The guard quickly drops into a bow. “Your Highness.”

“There sure are a lot of you that come through here. And please, sir, call me Anna.”

She’s never really had to flirt, she realizes. Her and Kristoff just kind of went from hating each other to liking each other, and with Hans… well, they got engaged within twelve hours of meeting one another.

The guard blushes as he responds. “Well, if I’m to call you Anna, you mustn’t call me sir. Jakob will do.”

“Jakob,” Anna responds, flashing her prettiest smile. “So, do you guys just stand outside of this door all day? Are you guarding something?”

“Um, yes, Your High— sorry, Anna.”

“Well it must be pretty important.”

“Uh, no. Not… not so much so. Just, um, old things. Family heirlooms, if you will.”

“Ah, I see. May I see them?”

“Pardon?”

“The heirlooms. Can I take a peek at them?”

“Ah, uh, no, Your— Anna.”

_Just as she’d expected._

“Why not? They’re just old things, you said it yourself. And I _was_ nearly a part of this family, so…”

“But you’re not, and I’ve been told that the only people allowed in this room are members of the Westergaard family. I’m not even allowed in.”

“But they let that cute little servant in? Maja, I think her name is? With _food?_ ”

Jakob stares at her, clearly at a loss for words. She stares back for a moment before deciding it would be in her best interest to act like she knew absolutely nothing.

Breaking into a fit of fake giggles, she places a hand on Jakob’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t think I was, like, interrogating you or something. We have a room we keep guarded as well and I always tease the guards.”

“Oh, you’re fine, Anna,” he responds, breathing what’s clearly a sigh of relief as she bids him farewell and scurries back to her room.

* * *

 She has dinner brought to her that evening. When Elsa asks if she’d like company, she says she just wants to be alone. She doesn’t.

Her eyes dart to the clock as she finishes the last of her venison. Five minutes to the hour.

Any minute now.

She lies back on her bed, doing her best to control her breathing.

 _I shouldn’t go_ , she thinks. _What if he tries to hurt me?_

 _You can scream for help. A guard is back at the door within two minutes._ **_Go._ **

As footsteps approach the door, and a flash of blue walks by, she makes her decision.

She scans the hallway, making sure no one is watching. It’s empty, except for the distant echoes of the guard’s footsteps.

She moves quietly, leaving her slippers in her room. No noise. No one can know. No one _will_ know.

When her hand grips the doorknob, her heart drops.

What if Jakob was telling the truth? What if all that was in the room was old heirlooms?

She opens the door, holding her breath.

It’s warm. There is a bed. The plate from earlier sits on a table, empty. The room is bathed in the yellow light of a fireplace she can’t see.

She lets the door shut.

“Hello?”

It’s him.

She walks towards his voice, coming from the other part of the room.

“ _Hello?”_

He’s lying on a couch by the fireplace, bottle in hand. He doesn’t bother to look back.

“The plate’s on the table, where it always—”

“It’s me.”

He doesn’t react. Or perhaps the silence and stillness _is_ his only reaction to the woman he tried to kill sneaking into his room on the eve of his execution.

After what seems like an eternity, he stands and turns to her. His eyes scan her body — something which should intimidate her, but instead brings tears of joy to her eyes.

He’s here.

He’s really here.

“Hans…”

“Anna.”

“Hans, I…”

“You need to leave, Anna.”

“But—”

“I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know which one of them sent you in here—”

“No one sent me in here, I needed to _see_ you.”

“—but you really need to leave.” His hand is on her shoulder, guiding her towards the door.

“Please, Hans…”

“Don’t say my name like that. Don’t _beg_.”

“I just want to talk to you.” She plants her feet on the ground, turning and facing him, not allowing him to push her any further.

They’re face to face for a moment. As close as they were that day.

He laughs.

“You’re still a stubborn brat.”

“And you’re still… you’re still…”

His laughs increase as he makes his way back to his couch. She’s unsure if he wants her to follow him, or to leave as he’d requested.

“Did they bring you here to watch?” Hans asks, picking up a glass and taking a long sip of its contents.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, they invited us."

“Bastards. Wanted your face to be the last thing I saw.”

She nods wordlessly, not knowing quite what to do. He tops off his glass, and turns to face her. “Come. Sit. I’ll pour you a drink.”

She knows she should leave. She knows him— knows that this is some kind of trap, some kind of ruse to trick her into staying with him so he one last chance to hurt her and finish what he’d started. The logical thing to do would be to turn around and walk out and beg whichever guard had taken over the task of watching the door to keep her secret.

Anna had never been logical.

He offers a small smile to her as she sits, as far away from him as she can while still being on the couch. Her drink is poured, and she takes a small sip of the liquor. It’s stronger than anything she’s tasted tasted before, but she keeps herself from grimacing. She doesn’t need him making fun of her.

“So how has your life been, Princess? All butterflies and rainbows?”

“ _No._ I mean, I’m happy. Yeah, I’m happy. But it’s not _perfect_ or anything.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“I _am_ happy,” she scoffs, taking another sip of her drink. For something so strong, she’s surprised by how much she likes it. “I have my sister. And _Kristoff._ And they love me. So, I’m happy.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re trying to convince me, Anna. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

It takes every ounce of her strength to refrain from screaming at him. She _is_ happy, whether he likes it or not.

“I have nothing to convince you of. It’s not like you’re gonna go spread some nasty rumor about the state of my life in the next twelve hours. No one would even believe you if you did.”

He chuckles darkly, and she can see his face change. The cocky, confident expression he wore when she’d entered was wearing thin. She swears tears are welling in his eyes.

“Hans?”

“No, go on. Tell me more about your happy life, insignificant life with your witch sister and peasant lover.”

“Hey. You don’t get to say that about them. You can say that about me, call me whatever you want— but _leave them out of it.”_

“Still stubborn.”

“Still an inconsiderate ass.”

They settle into an uncomfortable silence, looking into their drinks, at the walls, into the fireplace, _anything_ but each other.

What is she supposed say to him? Something about tomorrow? Something about what had happened between the two of them? She can’t think of any way not to offend him.

“You look the same,” she babbles, words rolling from her tongue before she has the time to think about them. “Different, but the same, you know? You look older. Sadder— wait, what?”

“Being sentenced to death will do that to a man.”

She shuts her mouth.

His gaze shifts to her. Green eyes look her over, settling on her shoulders, her collarbone, her hands, everything. She feels like he can see right through her.

“And you look even more beautiful than you did six months ago, if that’s even possible.”

“Hans…”

“What? Am I not allowed to say that? We’re technically still engaged.”

“Any relationship between us ended when you decided to let me die,” she says, a bitter tone in her voice she’s not quite used to. “Besides, you never even gave me a ring.”

“A ring does not make an engagement. And you _are_ beautiful. Everyone always talks about Elsa. ‘Oh, she’s mysterious, she’s intriguing, enigmatic…’ I don’t find any of that interesting. Not compared to _you._ ”

She stares into her glass, doing her best to think of something else, to think of Elsa, to think of _Kristoff_ … Sweet, kind, loving Kristoff, who was so careful and gentle and cautious with his words and actions.

Even after all that had happened, he’d never come close to making her feel the way that Hans was in that moment.

“I guess it’s because we’re so similar. I see myself in you. Two sides of the same coin.”

“We’re not _similar,_ I’d never—”

“We’re the same, Anna. Both spares. Me more so than you, but still, _spares_ . In case something happened to one of _them_.” His voice drips with bitterness as he takes a long sip of his drink. Bitterness and pain. “And what did they do to us? Ignored us. Mocked us. Hurt us.”

Her mouth opens, planning to ask him to elaborate, but she decides keeping it closed is the better option. Not when he’s as visibly shaken as he is.

“They hurt us. They looked down upon us and made us feel like we were nothing. Christ, Anna, your sister wouldn’t even talk to you. And yet you chose to be kind. You let it make you kind. And strong. And what did it do to me?”

“Hans…”

“I wish I were more like you, Anna. I admire you. I don’t know how you did it, but you let it shape you and mold you into this abnormally kind and caring woman. And that’s why you snuck in here. Because even after I tried to _fucking murder you_ , you pity me.”

She stares at him, wordlessly.

“Did I get it right, my princess?”

She does her best to hold back the tears pricking at her eyelids.

“And while you’ve been prancing around with your sister and a fucking reindeer herder, I’m stuck in this room awaiting the blade because I wasn’t as strong as you were. And I feel so guilty, because you were the one person who ever showed me kindness. You were the one person I ever loved.”

“Hans, please…”

“And that’s why I hate that you’re here. Because I’ve dreamt of you slipping into my room and letting me make love to you. Letting me show you how _sorry_ I am, how much I love you. Every night, I’ve dreamt of you. And now you are here and you’re _you_ and you pity me.”

He stares at her for a moment before collapsing into a fit of sobs.

Her feet instinctually carry her to him, her hands moving to lift him into an embrace as her fingers tangle themselves into his thick hair.

It’s what her mother would do for her, when the isolation and loneliness and need for a friend became too much to bear.

As he sobs into her neck, she’s brought back to each of those nights she’d beg her parents to please just let her see Elsa, just for a minute, and the soul crushing sadness when they told her she couldn’t.

“It’s okay, Hans,” her voice is nothing more than a shaky whisper. “I’m here. I’m here, and I’ve dreamt of you. Everywhere… you’re _everywhere_ …”

“Anna, _please_ …”

“And you’re right. God, you’re right, Hans. I hardly let him near me. I want to, but I can’t. And when I do, all I can think of is _you._ ”

He’s stopped his crying, and she can feel his lips gently sucking on her shoulder.

This was wrong.

So wrong.

“Please. Anna,” he whispers into her neck, “let me spend my last night on this earth with the woman I love.”

 _Wrong_.

“Yes.”

His lips are on hers the moment the word leaves them. He kisses her like he should’ve that day, like he’s trying to make up for not having done it, and for every day afterwards. This could’ve been their life.

She’s kissed Kristoff before. Small pecks, here and there, to bid one another goodnight and farewell. Their first kiss, that moment on the docks, had been just that— a moment. Their relationship hadn’t reached that level of passion in the six months since.

And yet, here she was, straddling the lap of the man who had lied to her, left her alone to die, and feeling more want and lust and _need_ than she ever could’ve imagined feeling for Kristoff.

They went on like that for a while, just absorbing the feeling of being in one another’s arms after spending so long dreaming of it. Their kisses are desperate, sloppy, _needy,_ and seldom does either come up for air.

He moans her name after a while, as she moves to kiss his jaw, his neck. She’s not quite sure what she’s doing, how to pleasure him best, and moves solely by instinct.

“Anna,” he repeats, breathless. A soft smile settles over his hardened features as she brings her gaze to his. “Anna, my love… let me have you. Let me have you as I have in my dreams. Let me _love_ you."

The mere thought of lying beneath him sends shivers down her spine. She’d be his, completely, and in that moment decides there’s nothing she’d rather be.

She answers by pressing her lips to his once more, moaning as he pulls her closer and carries her to his bed. He’s gentle, oh, so hauntingly gentle as he makes quick work of her corset and lays her down on his silk sheets. For a prisoner, his accommodations are horribly nice.

His mouth is on her breast in an instant, and she gasps, both out of pleasure and the sheer embarrassment of lying bare before him.

“Hans,” she murmurs, small fingers tugging his auburn locks as a thought distantly enters her mind. “The guard. What if— what if he hears us?”

“They’ll think you’re a whore.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m scared of.”

He chuckles against her skin, his hot breath causing her hairs to stand on end. “They’ll think you’re a prostitute. Someone my brothers hired to bring me some ‘comfort’. Wouldn’t be the first. And if it weren’t for my sentence, wouldn’t be the last.”

“Oh,” she says, suddenly remembering who exactly she’s dealing with. Of course he’d been with other women over the course of his punishment. Of course…

He seems to read her mind, kissing her on the lips, thumb wiping small tears that had begun to fall at the thought of being just one in a long line of women he’d begged to stay the night.

“Don’t worry, my dove,” he whispers, “I closed my eyes each time. Pictured strawberry hair instead of blonde or brown or black. Screamed your name as I finished.”

Her hips involuntarily buck into his, and she needs him, oh god, she _needs_ him.

He wastes no more time, shedding his garments and peeling off her skirt, her stockings, her bloomers. He kisses his way down her body, stopping before he reaches her most private parts, kissing just below her belly button before looking up at her with concerned eyes.

“May I?”

She nods wordlessly, dropping her head back onto the pillow as he gently presses his lips to her. It’s an odd sensation, the feeling of his tongue licking at her folds. But she likes it, she decides.

He moans against her, and the vibrations from his mouth on her sensitive skin cause her to shout.

She claps a hand over her mouth, embarrassed and scared and shaking with pleasure.

“No, don’t do that,” his voice drifts up from the bottom of the bed. “Give me your hand.”

She obliges, and he threads his fingers through hers as he goes back to work. He licks, and sucks, and kisses, and she’s out of breath and sweating and tears are falling from her eyes, and she has no clue why.

 _“Hans.”_ She’s shocked by the sultry moan that tumbles from her lips. “ _H-_ ah _! Hans!”_

“Tell me what you need, princess. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

“More. Just… _more._ ”

At her request, he intensifies everything. Sucks harder, kisses harder, kisses _faster_. When he slips a finger inside her, she cries out. Before she knows it, she’s brought to her peak, grinding herself against his face as she shouts his name and rides out the wave of her climax.

She lies back on her pillow, breathless as climbs on top of her.

“Do you need a break?”

She shakes her head. “I need you, Hans. I need _you_.”

Candlelight reflects off the tears in his eyes as he lowers himself onto her, shuddering as he presses his hardness against her.

She takes a moment to study him as he readies himself. He really is a beautiful man, and tonight, just for tonight, he is hers.

“Anna, Anna, _my Anna…”_ he whispers, his hand on her breast, her cheek, in her hair. “Are you sure? Once we start… Anna, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”

She answers with three words.

“I love you.”

His lips are on hers, and as he gently pushes into her, everything is as it should be. Everything is perfect.

* * *

 He wakes her just before six in the morning, with gentle kisses and touches all over her body.

As she opens her eyes, she’s greeted by his face, gently smiling and studying her, and she’s beyond relieved to see him there. That meant it was _real._

They’d made love three times that night. The first could only be described as loud, with both of them shouting the other’s name and professing their love for each other. The second was more relaxed, more sensual, and it’s then that he tells her he’d make her his wife if he could, that he’d spend every day of the rest of his life making things up to her. As she rides him, he outlines their happy lives as man and wife. Chocolates after dinner, each and every night. Warm baths taken together. Sliding through the hallways in their socks, just as they had that first night, oh so long ago. He promises her children, when she’s ready, and promises to love them and protect them with his life.

The third time came in the earliest hours of the morning, after they’ve both slept for a while, tangled in each other’s embrace. Anna woke with a start, remembering that in a few hours’ time, the man lying beside her would be dead, and so she desperately begged him to take her again as she ground against him. He complied, of course, and she falls asleep on his chest once they’ve both finished, spent from the night’s activities.

“Good morning,” he whispers, and she can see tears pricking at his eyelids once more.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Let me stay with you.”

“Anna…”

“Let me stay. They won’t take you, not if I’m here. They wouldn’t do that.”

“You clearly don’t know my brothers,” Hans sighs, gathering her small frame in his arms and pulling her as close as possible. “If they saw you in here… If they found you here, they’d rip you out of this bed and beat me in front of you before dragging us both out to the executioner’s block and making you watch. They’d probably even make you swing the axe.”

Her stomach turns as he speaks, and she crinkles her eyebrows in disgust. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“They’re sadistic men who see women as nothing but pawns. Political strategies. Probably why I ended up the way I did. Trust me, Anna, they would.”

She feels the tears beginning to well in her own eyes. She would gladly face the humiliation and embarrassment of being found naked in bed beside her almost-murderer if it meant she could spend the rest of her life with Hans. But that was not guaranteed. Staying with him was dangerous, and the concerned look on his face told her he believed he wouldn’t be the _only_ one getting beaten if his brothers were to barge in at that exact moment.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she speaks into his chest as she begins to cry.

“And I don’t want you to.” He whispers back, placing a gentle kiss in her hair, stroking her back, her shoulder, her neck. After minutes of only her muffled sobs filling the air, he speaks again, shattering her heart into a million more tiny pieces: “Anna… I’m scared.”

Her head jolts up and her hands are on his face as he collapses into sobs. She wonders if he’d let her stay with him, despite the risk it posed to them both. He was frightened. He deserved to have someone with him until his last breath.

“Anna,” he murmurs between sobs, breathless. “Anna, please, promise me you’ll be there. Promise me you’ll be there, that you’ll let me look into your eyes…”

“Of course,” she whispers, offering a small smile. “I won’t… I’ll be there. ‘Til the end.”

“Promise me…”

The clock chimes. Six loud, bellowing clanks of metal on metal.

“Go now,” he says, hands guiding her out from beneath the covers. “The guards are switching. You can get back to your room with plenty of time to compose yourself.”

“Hans…”

“I love you, Anna. _Go_.”

* * *

 That night, the waves rock her to sleep rather than his arms.

She had done as he asked. She’d gone back to her room and spent the time she had before Elsa came to bring her to breakfast to stop her crying and to try and cover the love bites he’d left up and down her neck.

Thank god she’d packed a high-necked dress.

She hardly ate anything at breakfast. She couldn’t, not when she knew what awaited him.

It was raining, and so his brothers decided to get it over and done with before the clock stuck ten. There was no seating, really just a raised platform, and so Anna was forced to grasp the old, wood railing to keep her knees from buckling beneath her.

The moment he was brought out, she felt twelve sets of eyes on her back, her side, her profile. Only the thirteenth set, belonging to the man held down beneath an axe met hers.

He looked at her the entire time. She stared at him, even after it was done, until she had no choice but to run into the tall grass of the courtyard and vomit.

She rolled in her cot as another wave of nausea hit. Whether it was the waves, or the image of her lover’s bloody body lying on that platform, she didn’t know. All she knew was that never in her life had she felt as much helplessness and dread than she did in that moment. And that was saying something, considering the fact that she’d nearly – no, _had_ – frozen to death.

But there had been hope. Hope that true love could thaw her frozen heart.

True love couldn’t bring a man back from the dead, no matter how much she wanted it to.

She rolls onto her back as the boat hits another large swell. She supposes she has to start over, with the counting. Now that she’d seen him. Now that she’d been with him. Now that he was gone.

“Day one,” she whispers to the ceiling, the darkness, to him.

_Day one._


End file.
